Ten Years
by KisameHoshigaki257
Summary: It's been ten years. Kick is back in town to pull a stunt. Kendall is back to see her family. Gunther is there to be there for his friend. But Fate is Wyrd, and that which is planned isn't always what happens. KickxKendall
1. Chapter 1

Ten Years

Ten years is a lot of time. Ten years of a crazed hell caused by a scrawny daredevil and a big Norse amigo whose only motto was 'live till it hurts!' Ten years since they started pulling wilder and wilder stunts. Ten years that had led up to this moment.

Dead Man's Drop. Every town had one, and if they didn't they knew where they could find one nearby or how to fake it. It was a staple of the American Landscape, just like drive-thru and suburbia. Adrenalin junkies and stoners, lovers and parents all knew where to go when the time to catch some thrills or stop others.

It wasn't the first time Kick Buttowski had taken Dead Man's Drop. That had been ten years ago, when his best friend Gunther was trying to impress a girl. Or was it the time he battled his older brother. Too many crashes, trips to the hospital, and broken helmets in ten years meant it was hard to remember. But it didn't really matter. Whatever method that Kick had used that first time was nothing compared to what he was about to do. It. Would. Be. Awesome!

The Drop was shorter than he remembered, but ten years will do that. Ten years, and a few more feet of height, because no one called Kick Buttowski a shrimp. The years had brought more than a growth spurt though. He'd changed the jumpsuit too, leaving behind the white and red of his childhood for the black and chrome of a man. He sat astride his modified dirt bike, that he'd built by hand to his precise specifications, for maximum speed and handling.

The crowd was gathered around, like always. Some were cheering the daredevil come back to Meadowbrook, back from college for the summer and ready to kick off the break with a blast from the past that would sound throughout the suburb. He kicked the bike on, letting the engine roar like a lion and announce his supremacy to the cheers of former classmates and the next round of kids growing up on the streets down below.

Gunther was there, looking nervous and worried, like always. He'd changed too, from a fat little blonde kid to someone who looked worthy of his Norse heritage. A giant of a man, no longer fat, but ripped with muscles earned with sweat and tears, after too many jabs about his weight in high school. Long blonde hair pulled into a tail down his back and bared to the sun, he'd grown a beard and rough hands from helping to build so many machines and ramps for his friend.

Kick gunned the bike engine and raised his hands to the sky, snapping the international hand sign of badass stunts and rock and roll. "Chimichanga!" He roared, drowning out the engine in a fit of nostalgia. The crowd went wild and screamed as he gripped the handlebars, popped a wheelie, spun the bike three-sixty, and shot over the edge of the cliff to dive between ragged spikes of rock, cliffs, edges, and legend.

Because he was Kick Buttowski!

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Kendall sighed as she drove down the streets back to her old home. College was over, a bachelors under her belt and a masters next year. She'd worked hard, like she had since she was a little girl. The work had gotten harder though, forcing her to push aside things in her bookish way that most girls went wild over. Boys, makeup, dating, the entertainment industry. Well, not so much the last one, because beyond a weakness for sappy romantic movies, she'd never gotten that into Hollywood.

Still, the suburbs were nice, she guessed. To be honest, she hated them, all the conformity and blandness. Kendall might not be one to buck the system, being more interested in her books, but four years at university had taught her a lot about social oppression and gender inequalities, and suburbia was just another part of that. So even as the little girl in her was happy to be home, the woman inside raged against the inequality and social injustices she saw around her.

A rock made a popping sound on her window and she scowled, flipping her long blonde hair back. Then another sounded, and another, and another. She slowed down, looking around to see where they were coming from and gradually looked up the rock wall beside her that was Dead Man's Drop.

Just in time to hear the ungodly roar of an engine as is screamed at her car. Kendall screamed, her hands clutching the wheel as she slammed on the brakes out of instinct. The sound of metal slamming into metal, grinding and shearing with screams of metallic agony rent the air. A blur of black and chrome shot past her front window as the bike curled around the fender and twisted her small car around like a top.

Kendall kept hearing someone screaming, or two someones, she couldn't be sure. It sounded deep, masculine, and in agony, but at the same time high, feminine, and scared. Her throat hurt, felt raw, like someone had rubbed the inside with something harsh and bitter. Detached, she realized her knuckles were so white she could see the bones. Her hands hurt, but it didn't mean anything to her.

Then everything went dark, to the sounds of screams, a car horn, and the rumbling of two engines that clung to the last life they would ever have.

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Gunther had never been so scared in his life. He'd know since he was a kid that this would happen. Without even looking, he knew what he'd find. Every crash, every accident, and every trip to the emergence room, he'd been there, waiting to hear that this would be the one his best friend wouldn't be coming back from.

People had screamed as they watched the accident, watch the bike crumple up like a child's toy, watch the car swerve into a ditch, watched Kick Buttowski, suburban legend fly through the air like a cannon ball and smash into a tree.

Gunther didn't even think. He threw himself bodily off the edge of the cliff and slid down, muscles straining has he clawed and kicked his way around or through obstacles to get to his friend, ponytail streaming out behind him. He felt the cuts and scrapes as a distant thing. Not even the bone jarring thump that came when his feet hit concrete. He just pushed up and raced over to his friend.

He'd been studying medicine as a "hobby" for the last five years, praying he'd never have to use it like this. The motions were smooth, routine, even as he whipped out his cell phone and called an ambulance. Kick might have been gone for a few years, but the local emergency room knew him on better than a first name basis. Kick was alive, but Gunther didn't dare move him. That was for professionals. At least he wasn't bleeding all over the place, but Gunther knew better than to take that as a good sign. Internal bleeding could be far, far worse.


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry for the long delay. My pc got trashed and lost the original second chapter. But Netflix has Kick Buttowski and the spirits of writing did visit me. So here's another chapter. Enjoy

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_It was prom and they walked in arm and arm. The gym froze, like it had five years before, gazing in shock at them together. Only this time he wasn't wearing a luchador outfit and she wasn't dressed up as an operatic Valkyrie. She wasn't even sure what she was doing here, but no one else had asked her to the biggest night of high school (well at least other than graduation), so she's accepted his offer to escort her to the dance._

_Kick had grown, but he was still shorter than her. Most girls would have found that embarrassing, but Kendal Perkins wasn't going to let that stop her. Or the fact that despite five years and several growth-spurts between them, Kicks' eyes barely were higher up than the breasts that had formed with maturity, along with the slightly wider hips and longer legs. He was still stocky, but it was more hard muscle and scar tissue than baby fat. The arm she held onto delicately was hard as stone, and she couldn't help but flush at that. It reminded her of the time they had dance, for a grade and a trophy, and he'd pushed her abilities to their limits and been so sure and strong and intense. If she hadn't hated him (no that was the wrong word) then it would have swept her off her feet. As it was, it had sent a rush of something through her and it stuck with her even over five years of still not being able to stand the daredevil shrimp. So she'd said yes, just on the secret, slight chance that he'd show her that again on the dance floor tonight._

He looked so small and vulnerable in the hospital bed. Even with all the casts and wires and tubes and things sticking in and out of him. Machines beeped and whirred, stabilizing him, keeping him alive. Coma, they said. It didn't make sense to her. She'd been out and recovering, they let her come see him. The guy had fucking face planted more times than she could count when he was twelve alone and it had only gotten worse as the years went on and he tried even more extreme things. It didn't make sense that crashing his stupid bike into her stupid car could do this to him.

Kendal sat there beside his bed. Her arm and leg were in casts and her head wrapped in bandages, but they couldn't get her away from him for long. They could barely make her go to her own room to sleep most nights, even after having gone to the trouble of putting her room next to his, which took some doing in ICU. They generally only allowed half hour visits, loved ones traveling back to the waiting room, filled with chairs and recliners for those who had driven themselves to the point where sleep overcame the need to watch out for the loved one's chances of passing on.

A nurse came in, one Kendal hadn't seen before. She ignored all the machines and placed her hand lightly on Kick's chest and Kendal felt her heart freeze. The woman's eyes were two different colors. One was icy blue, the other black as night. She stared right at Kendal and the young woman whimpered. There was something about this woman, a sense of finality, of the end, of things older than mankind, even though the nurse was young.

"Please," Kendal said, "Is there nothing you can do? He can't die, not like this. Not from crashing into me."

_If their entrance had shocked the gym, then their dance had blown them away. Her elegant dress, all white lace and silk, swirled about in gentle waves as he spun her. His tux, pure white, with a crimson bowtie and vest, looked awesome on him. It had taken a lot to get him to not wear a jumpsuit and helmet. She understood why he wore it, he had the same curly hair as his mother and sister, and she couldn't imagine that such a thing would be fun for a little boy, or even a young man who wanted to be awesome. But he still grew it, rather than shaving his head, and part of her wanted to lace her fingers in those wavy curls and see if it was a soft at it looked. So unfair that a boy would have such wonderful hair and she had to spend hours on hers._

_He didn't throw her around this time. It wasn't wrestling mixed in with opera this time. This time it was martial arts mixed with ballet. She'd heard that after his first growth spurt, he and Gunther had gotten Gunther's father to teach them the warrior skills of the Vikings, and it showed through Kick's movements as power and strength and confidence, not just in the focused way of Karate or Kung Fu, but as something more dangerous, more lethal, and it sent a rush through her. He might be eye-level with her breasts, but his eyes locked with hers and she felt captured by that gaze, prey before the predator._

The nurse stared at her, hand still resting on Kicks chest. Kendal found her hand holding on tightly to Kick's. Their eyes locked over his body and Kendal felt her mind torn with emotions she didn't know or understand.

"You know he's in a lot of pain," the nurse said softy.

"I know," Kendal said, "But he always said live till it hurts. To do it all, and then some."

"He likely will never be able to do anything strenuous in his life again," The nurse said, "Even if he wakes up, he could be stuck in this bed forever."

Kendal felt her throat tighten. Such a life would be a nightmare, even for her. For Kick, it would be hell on earth. She looked down at his body, at the hand on his chest. "Then…then he'll find a way to still do something crazy." She whispered softly.

The nurse smiled, Kendal could hear it in the woman's voice. "You're probably right," she said softly. Kendal's eyes lifted up and she caught the name on the nurse's badge, Hela. "I've watched him come in to this hospital time after time. But he's never been this close to me before."

_She'd gone to the bathroom to get away. It was too much. She didn't like him. Hell, she couldn't stand him half the time. But when they danced, everything else vanished. Just his eyes, powerful and assured and confident in a way that put her on edge because no one else had a right to be as confident as she was, and most of the time she wasn't sure she was that confident. _

_Someone had spiked the punch. Someone always spiked the punch, and she'd had about two cups. Kick hadn't though, he'd brought a can of that cheetah chug drink of his (made with the sweat of real cheetahs) and only drank that, because he knew someone would spike the punch too. She leaned against the door of the bathroom stall and tried to control her breathing. A couple of stalls over, she heard a girl crying and wondered if it was because of a fight or one of those prom night babies the psa's were always complaining about during sex ed. The stupid things were embarrassing, and she hadn't even had sex. Not because she was a prude, but there were always better things to do and school work to get done and honestly the only boy who had asked her out (that she'd accepted) in the last three years was Kick and that was for tonight because it was just sad to go to prom by yourself, and it was better to go with someone you didn't like than go alone._

_Hell, he was just about the only boy to ever kiss her, and he'd stolen her first kiss…_

The nurse paused to look out in the hallway as a janitor passed by, long handled mop sticking out of his bucket. He looked into the room, then at the nurse, and Kendal saw that an eye patch covered one eye. He shook his head slightly and then moved on. The nurse sighed and leaned down, kissing Kick's forehead, before pulling away.

She left without saying a word, leaving Kendal there holding Kick's hand.

_Kendal wasn't sure she'd wanted to go out there, but her feet had taken her back to him. She played haughty, because that's the only way she knew to act around him. But she was still the deer to his wolf, and as they spun around the dance floor to a slow song (how had that happened she'd been determine not to dance where they'd be so close 'cause his scent and his strength would wash over and how could she take that from someone who annoyed her every day. He wasn't like Renaldo, with all his logic and equations and sharp edges, this was Kick with his chaos and awesome and blunt in your face way of dealing with things) and he held her firmly but gently, letting her both lead and making her follow by turns, just as they had five years ago._

_It had started with a kiss, but after it went further. So much further, driven by the buzz and the peer pressure of all the other girls talking about who they did and how good they were depending on their egos, the boy's ego, and if they liked who they'd been with or wanted to shame him. Kick treated it with the same focus and diligence he did anything he wanted, and Kendal wondered if this had been his plan or it just happened, and she tasted the punch on his mouth too and knew she wasn't the only one buzzing. He'd been prepared, bless him, not by his initiative but because Gunther's father said he knew young men and dances and he wasn't letting a student of his off without proper protection._

Kendal looked down at Kick and felt the tears well up in her eyes as she held his hand. "Please Kick, don't die," she said softly, "I'm so, so sorry for what I did to you."

_Her first. His first. So many firsts. He could have had so many girls, but he didn't want them. She could have had so many guys, but she didn't want them either. She wasn't even sure they wanted each other, or if hate and disdain was what pushed them, led them, to that. Or if it was secretly the respect they had for each other._

_It was the not knowing that made her turn her back on him. They could have gone forwards. But she was scared. Scared of the man he was becoming, and realizing that she was just a little girl. So the next day she treated him like nothing had happened. And she saw the pain in his eyes. And felt her heart rip. But she was helpless. So things went on as normal, as each night she tried to bury the confusion deeper and deeper._

_Till five years later the scream of steal covered the scream of a young woman who watched her first fly past her windshield in a blur._


End file.
